


Fallen Dome of Heaven

by StarSpray



Category: Doctor Who, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Fall of Doriath, Gen, Second Kinslaying, Tragedy, elves in the TARDIS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpray/pseuds/StarSpray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor picks up River with exciting plans for adventure, but the TARDIS is knocked off course, and lands them in snow-covered Doriath, where Dior holds the Silmaril.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place just after season 6 of Doctor Who and prior to season 7. Due to the nature of time travel, it works also as both a sequel and a prequel to my one-shot "Wanderers," depending on which perspective you like.

**Prologue: Wild Nights**

The familiar sound of the TARDIS materializing in her cell woke River from a light doze. She sat up, diary falling from her chest to the floor with a dull thump, as the Doctor poked his head out of the door. "Good evening!" he said. "How long's it been?"

"About a week," River replied as she picked up the diary and slipped it into her belt before grabbing her coat. "Where are we off to tonight?"

"Earth, and the past!" The Doctor spun back into the TARDIS. He leapt up the stairs to the console as River followed him. "But the specifics are a surprise."

"Oh, Sweetie, you know me so well." River joined him, shaking out her curls and considering a quick run to the wardrobe as she craned her neck in a futile attempt to catch a glimpse of their destination on one of the screens. But the Doctor nudged it out of her line of sight.

"You can guess if you like," said the Doctor. His tone said he was certain she wouldn't get it right. It was a game they liked to play sometimes when he came to fetch her away from her cell in the Stormcage.

"Let's see…" River leaned back against the railing and tapped her finger against her chin. "New York in the 1920s?"

"Nope!" The Doctor spun from one control to another, pulling on this lever, pushing in another button.

"Paris – at any time?"

"Guess again!"

"Hmmm. Oh! Are we going to watch them build the Great Wall of China?"

She went through half a dozen other guesses. Rio, the French Revolution, the American Revolution, the Italian Renaissance, the English Renaissance (the Doctor replied with a rather emphatic _no_ to that one), until she gave up. "All right, I suppose it really _will_ be a sur – " River was cut off when something collided with the TARDIS. Something big.

"What? Oh, no, no, no, that was not supposed to happen…what could _possibly_ have hit us?" The Doctor scrambled to regain some stability as River was nearly thrown over the railing as the TARDIS tipped and spun, sparks flying from the console. The Doctor dragged a screen over and squinted at it incredulously. "That's – that's a _bat_. Look at it! A bat! That is a _giant bat_."

"A giant _bat?_ " River lurched forward and peered at the screen. It certainly _resembled_ a giant bat, with great dark wings and red eyes; it screeched and hissed as it attacked the TARDIS, though whether it was trying to get in, or simply knock it off course it was impossible to tell. "What _is_ that?"

"I'm not _quite_ sure, but I have a theory. River, I need you to run to the library."

"The library? You want a book? _Now?_ "

"A very specific book!" The Doctor yanked on a lever, and the bat outside screeched in rage. " _The Silmarillion_ , by J.R.R. Tolkien."

" _Tolkien?_ Isn't he the man who wrote _The Lord of the Rings?_ " River had read that long ago, at Amy's insistence (back when River had been Melody and Amy had still insisted on being called Amelia, because her Raggedy Doctor said it was a fairy tale name). It was _fantasy_. "What do you need a book of his for?"

"Because I was reading it earlier and I need to look something up!" The Doctor huffed, and staggered past River. "Fine. _I'll_ get it. You fly the TARDIS." And he disappeared through a doorway. River took control, happy that for once the Doctor remembered she was perfectly capable of flying the TARDIS, and even managed to shake off the giant bat, or whatever it was. And then she landed, nowhere near their original destination, but there was no way River was going to attempt to get back there with large winged creatures flying around in places they shouldn't, attacking unsuspecting phone boxes.

The Doctor returned, flipping through the back of a vaguely tattered copy of _The Silmarillion_. Probably the index. "What has that got to do with whatever that creature was?" River asked.

"It's got everything to do with it. I think it was a vampire."

"A _vampire?_ You mean like the ones you encountered in Venice? Oh but those were fish. Do you mean, like Dracula?"

"Well, I _say_ vampire…I think Tolkien really just means very large bats when he says vampire. Servants of Morgoth…if it was a Maia in the shape of a giant bat that might very well explain how it got to the TARDIS while we were moving through the vortex…"

River rolled her eyes. "You can't be serious. Sweetie, those are just stories. Fairy tales."

The Doctor smirked as he turned a page. "Oh, River. Aren't we all?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One:** **Shadows Hold Their Breath**

 _Doriath_  
Winter  
First Age 509

It was snowing. Again.

Once, Celeborn had loved winter – when it was always night, and the soft silence meant peace, and was broken only by joyful shouting as young Elves (everyone had been young, then) raced each other over the drifts, between the trees, flickering shadows darting through the starlit silver and onyx of the snow-covered forest.

Now the silence made him nervous. It was six years since Queen Melian had departed from Middle-earth, taking her Girdle of protection with her. After centuries of living safe behind its enchantments, the Doriathrim still struggled to find ways to adequately defend themselves, even under Dior’s leadership. Lúthien’s son was young, but wise in his own way, and brave. Celeborn had not yet decided whether he favored Thingol more, or Beren, or if Thingol and Beren had been more alike than anyone had dared to admit.

Celeborn paced through the snow – it was falling thickly, but not fast – to the base of Hírilorn that still bore the house Thingol had ordered built in its branches for Lúthien. He stared up at it, remembering how her temper had risen to match Thingol’s, and of the long argument that had persisted before Thingol had finally had her locked up. He remembered feeling like he should do something, but not knowing what, and how Galadriel had just shaken her head, probably remembering her own departure from home, against her father’s wishes.

Now the house in the tree was as silent as the rest of the forest. Not even the animals were stirring.

But still, he was nervous. He had never met any of Fëanor’s seven sons, but knew enough to know that Celegorm and Curufin, at the very least, could not be trusted – and they had every reason to hate the son of Beren and Lúthien, even if he didn’t possess a Silmaril. And Maedhros had sent half a dozen letters to Menegroth already, demanding the return of the jewel to its “rightful” possessors.

Dior had burned every single one of those letters without sending a reply. “You have said yourself, this Silmaril has been hallowed by the hands of Elbereth herself,” he had said when Galadriel warned him of her cousins’ Oath. “Fëanor and his sons lost their rights to them the moment they drew their swords at Alqualondë. I will not give kinslayers the Jewel my parents risked everything to obtain.”

And anyway, no one thought the Fëanorions would come during the winter. The driving snows and bitter winds would keep them in their fortresses, safe from the elements and far from Doriath. Not even Morgoth’s dread soldiers dared venture into weather such as this. The snow, they said, would be defense enough until spring.

But still Celeborn was uneasy. Elves could travel in the snow better than iron-shod orcs, and Curufin son of Fëanor was nothing if not cunning and Celegorm nothing if not impulsive – and persuasive, for the two of them had turned almost all of Nargothrond against Finrod. _Finrod_ , brother of his Galadriel, and more worthy of loyalty than any scion of Fëanor.

Celeborn leapt lightly into the trees, and scanned the horizon above the canopy, looking for tell-tale signs of encampment. Smoke curling up from a fire, perhaps. But even Elven eyes were hard pressed to tell smoke from the dreary grey clouds as the day moved toward evening – and surely the Noldor knew to seek dry wood for their fires.

After a time, he was joined by Malthor, an ancient elf and skilled scout who had been one of the first to find the location of what was now Menegroth. Few knew this forest better than he did. “Have you seen anything?” Celeborn asked. Malthor had been roaming the woods for several days now, searching for signs of approach – by anyone, orcs, Dwarves, Men, Elves...

“I caught a glimpse of a scout who doesn’t belong to us,” Malthor said. “Elven. These Noldor are clumsy among the trees, even now.” A gross generalization, but accurate: five hundred years of learning woodcraft could not compare with the thousands the Sindar had spent among the trees of Beleriand.

“Could we capture one of these scouts?” Celeborn asked. “He could tell us – ” Malthor interrupted him with a hand on his arm. He was staring at the sky, and Celeborn followed his gaze to see a small shape hurtling down towards them, out of the sky. “What…?”

As it drew closer they saw that it was some kind of large box made of blue wood. It was spinning almost out of control, before it righted itself and crashed through some branches nearby, skidding to a stop in the snow, miraculously upright among a copse of birches bent over with the weight of glittering ice. Some cracked and fell like shards of glass around the box. Malthor and Celeborn looked at each other. “What in Elbereth’s name…?”

They jumped lightly to the ground, Noldor scouts temporarily forgotten, and went to investigate the mysterious box. “It has a door,” Malthor said. “And…windows.”

“What kind of sorcery is this?” Celeborn wondered. A box that would barely hold two elves, flying  through the air and landing as though directed by some invisible hand…

Then they heard voices from inside. “…wonder where we ended up.”

“Doctor, I think the scanner is still broken. The date isn’t displaying right.”

“There is _nothing_ wrong with that scanner. I fixed it after Athens, took me half an hour. What age does it say? First? Second?”

“First.”

“Well, that’s  a shame. Bit early, for what I was planning.” The door opened, and a man stuck his head out. He took a deep breath, and stuck out his tongue. Malthor and Celeborn exchanged another glance as the man ducked back inside, though without shutting the door. “Well we _are_ on earth. And it’s winter.”

“I could tell _that_ by the draft you’re letting in, Sweetie.”

There was something odd about the sound of their voices. It took Celeborn a moment to realize what it was: they sounded as though they were calling across a large room to each other, instead of the cramped space inside the box.  Sorcery indeed.

Malthor slowly drew an arrow from his quiver and set it to his bowstring. Celeborn loosened his sword in its sheath.

The man stepped out of the box into the snow, taking a deep breath of the sharp air as he did so. “Come on, River!”

“Let me grab a coat, first!”

“Well hurry up!” The man turned, and for the first time noticed Celeborn and Malthor. “Oh, hello! Nice to meet you. I’m the Doctor. I – oh, is that _really_ necessary?” Malthor had raised his bow as the Doctor stepped forward. Now the Doctor stopped and raised his hands, though he looked anything but afraid. Not even nervous.

“Where do you come from? What is your business in Doriath?” Celeborn asked, trying to act normal, as though flying blue boxes were not something completely out of the ordinary.

“Well for starters, that first question is a bit hard to answer. I’m a traveler, not really settled anywhere. And we’re here in – what was it? Doriath? – quite by accident. Got knocked out of the time vortex, you see, had to make an emergency landing.” He paused, and looked more closely at Malthor, and then at Celeborn. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

Celeborn blinked. “No.” He wanted to say that this Doctor had not answered his question, except that he _had_ – just in terms that were entirely alien to Celeborn. Would that Melian were still in Doriath! She would know what to make of this box and its strange pilot. Celeborn looked to Malthor, who nodded, and put his fingers to his lips to signal another nearby scout.

Just after his whistle faded into the stillness of the winter forest, the Doctor’s companion emerged, bundled in a dark grey fur coat, a stark contrast to her pale, wild curls. The Doctor glanced a little sharply at the coat, but did not comment.

“Oh,” said the woman, stopping short upon seeing the Elves. “Hello.”

“River, these are Elves,” the Doctor informed her. “They haven’t yet introduced themselves, but I’m _fairly_ certain that this one,” he gestured to Celeborn, “is Lord Celeborn. Or, well, I suppose he’s _Prince_ Celeborn right at the moment.”

“Celeborn?” River repeated, looking at Celeborn with something like recognition, which was almost more unsettling than this pair’s manner of arrival. “You mean like Celeborn and Gal – ” The Doctor clamped a hand over her mouth, effectively stifling the rest of her question.

“Spoilers,” he said warningly. She huffed. “What year did you say this was?” River replied with something muffled, and the Doctor removed his hand. “Sorry, what?”

“Five hundred and nine,” she said. “I told you, the scanner’s not right – ”

“Ah, well that’s all right then.” The Doctor turned to Celeborn. “Can _you_ tell us the date?”

“…It is the five hundred and ninth year since the Sun rose,” Celeborn said slowly, as the help Malthor had summoned arrived, in the form of Oropher, one of the Elves out of Ossiriand who had come to Doriath with Dior and Nimloth. “Secure this – box,” Celeborn ordered him, “and bring it back to Menegroth.” Whatever it was, nothing good could come of it falling into the hands of the Noldor.

“Be careful with my ship!” exclaimed the Doctor as Malthor urged him and River away, back towards the river. “She’s had a rather bumpy ride, and is in a bit of a delicate state right now…”

“So where are we?” River asked, looking at the Doctor, though it seemed to be an open question.

“Doriath, he said,” the Doctor replied. “So really, for being knocked off course we could have landed somewhere much worse, especially just now. Nargothrond, for example.” Celeborn was finding that he had more questions by the moment, instead of answers, but he held his peace. It would be better to question this Doctor and his companion when they reached the safety of Menegroth, and for the king himself to do it.

Their progress was slow, for neither of the strangers could walk as lightly atop the snow as could the Elves. Strangely, neither of them seemed at all nervous. Rather, they were intrigued and interested. River kept glancing at Celeborn, and the Doctor continually attempted to engage Malthor in conversation, though Malthor was having none of it.

Finally, they came to the Esgalduin, and then to the bridge, which was kept clear of snow. The great doors to the caves opened soundlessly before them, and even the Doctor fell silent as they entered. Celeborn watched the visitors as they gazed around them, and found himself looking anew at his home as well: its pillars carved like mighty beeches, with sculpted stone squirrels and birds perched among the branches, jeweled eyes glinting in the light of torches and lamps.

He wondered if the newcomers could see the scars left from the Dwarves’ battle axes that still marred the caves, where the Elves had not been able to repair the damage. To Celeborn, every scar stood out like a beacon on a dark night. There were empty spots on the walls where tapestries had burned, and others still bore scorch marks, or were darkened from smoke. But at least the fountains flowed clear and sparkling again.

“Oh,” River breathed, spinning in a circle as she walked, trying to see everything at once. “How _beautiful.”_

Dior and Nimloth were both in the biggest hall with Galadriel and a few others. Celeborn could tell by Galadriel’s grim expression and their hushed tones that they were debating, again, the course the sons of Fëanor would take, and were again going in circles. Galadriel glanced up, and raised a slender eyebrow. Dior stopped speaking mid-sentence and blinked at the strangely-dressed visitors. Then, surprisingly, he smiled. “Doctor?”

The Doctor spun on his heel from examining one particular tapestry. “That’s me! Hello! Do I know you?”

Galadriel approached Celeborn as Dior stepped to the Doctor. “Who are these?” she asked him quietly. Celeborn related the strange tale swiftly, watching Galadriel’s eyes widen and her eyebrows rise ever higher.

“Were anyone else to tell me such a thing I would think them drunk,” she said finally.

“Oh, Dior!” the Doctor exclaimed, and embraced the king enthusiastically. “It’s been a while – for you, anyway. Goodness, you were much smaller the last time I saw you.”

“And it seems like not even a day has passed for you,” Dior replied. “What brings you to Doriath?”

“Actually, we were sort of knocked off course,” the Doctor said, scratching his head. “Some kind of large bat thing got into the Time Vortex…” He went off into a brief ramble that it was clear none but his companion understood.

But since this strange Doctor appeared to be a friend of Dior’s from his youth (which meant Lúthien and Beren had trusted him), Celeborn allowed himself to relax, and beckoned Malthor away from the group. Galadriel followed them. “Did you find anything besides this – Doctor – in the forest today?” she asked.

“I spotted a Noldor scout,” Malthor said. “We thought to perhaps capture him, but the strange blue box distracted us.”

“How does one _fly_ through the air in a wooden box?” Galadriel asked.

“I think the Doctor would be the one to ask,” Celeborn said. “But unless there is something in that box that can help us defend against the Fëanorions, I do not care. If their scouts have come so close to Menegroth, they themselves cannot be far behind. We need to look again to our defenses.”

Malthor glanced back at the Doctor, who was being introduced to little Elwing, who clung shyly to her mother’s hand, and the twins, who were already curiously tugging at his strange clothes and asking his companion questions. “How do we know this Doctor is not in league with the Noldor?” he asked.

“He must have met Dior in Tol Galen,” Galadriel said, “when Beren and Lúthien still lived. They would not have welcomed him, were he a threat to Doriath or in league with my cousins.”

“Malthor, take a party to help Oropher’s with the Doctor’s box,” Celeborn said. “I want it here by nightfall.” Malthor nodded, bowed to Galadriel, and departed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two: In Their Alabaster Chambers**

The TARDIS ended up getting stuck in a snowdrift. The Doctor was the only one who could move it, and he was reluctant to do so right away, in case she was still recovering from the "big bad bat thingy" that had knocked them out of the time vortex. That description of the creature raised some eyebrows, since apparently _it_ was a rather formidable _she_ , and she had a name: Thuringwethil. Also, it seemed that she had to have attacked them some years before, in the normal progression of time, since thanks to Lúthien, she was dead. Funny how time travel worked.

A few days after their arrival, River left the Doctor deep in conversation with the musician Lindir – something about a lay he was working on about Beren and Lúthien, and troubles coming up with a title.

River was much more interested in exploring than in poetry. After all, finding the Doctor had not been the _only_ reason she'd become an archeologist. A vast cavern fortress like this was impossible to resist. Under normal archeological circumstances, she would be wandering these halls years and years after they were abandoned. They would be empty and dusty and dark, lit only by River's torch. But now they were brightly lit and filled with people. All of the mosaics and carvings on the walls were intact, as were the tapestries, which told fascinating stories all on their own, though textiles had never been River's area of interest. She did wonder, though, how they had been so well preserved; none showed any of the wear one might expect after hundreds of years, like faded colors or frayed edges.

River wandered through ballrooms and forges and kitchens, and countless winding corridors – Menegroth had been aptly named; she would not have been surprised to learn there really were more than a thousand chambers in this place. More than once, River met someone who kindly asked if she were lost, but for the most part she was able to honestly answer no. Traveling with the Doctor, one tended to develop a pretty good sense of direction, in case one needed to get back to the TARDIS in a hurry.

One thing that started to trouble River as she wandered was that she kept seeing signs of recent damage in the halls. The beautifully carved stone pillars bore scars and chips, as did some of the mosaics and other carvings throughout the halls. Some of the tapestries bore smoke damage, or singed edges.

Lady Galadriel found River examining some of the marks near the base of a pillar. "Those were made by battle axes," she said.

River looked up. "They're a bit low to the ground, aren't they?"

A small, mirthless smile tugged at Galadriel's lips. "They are. Neither Elves nor Men made these. Several years ago we were attacked by Naugrim from the Ered Luin. They murdered Elu Thingol in his own treasury, and sacked Menegroth."

River stood, dusting off her pants. "Why?"

"For the Silmaril, of course."

The Doctor had briefly explained the Silmarils to River – their history, and their significance – but had not said what happened to them in the end, or even after Beren had given one to Thingol.

"Oh. Right."

Galadriel gazed at River silently for a few moments. River could almost _feel_ her trying to see inside her, and bristled at the intrusion. But she refused to break eye contact. She would _not_ be intimidated by Galadriel, no matter how powerful she was. Or how unsettlingly keen her gaze was. Or how _bright_ her eyes were. No, River would not let herself be intimidated. River Song didn't _do_ intimidated. Normally she was the one doing the intimidating, and she didn't particularly like the role reversal.

Something about this reminded River suddenly of that scene in _The Fellowship of the Ring_ in which the Fellowship first met Celeborn and Galadriel in that forest place. Lothlórien. Didn't she look into all of their hearts, or something, to test them?

The real (and much younger) Galadriel narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. "You know more of the fate of Middle-earth than you would have us believe," she said. "Yet I do not sense in you the gift of foresight."

And good thing, too. River had enough to deal with without _that_. "Well, time travel tends to do that," she said lightly. "And before you ask, no, I can't really tell you anything." _Unless you've already seen the plot of_ The Lord of the Rings _in my head. Damn._ "Spoilers, you know."

"River! There you are!" With his usual perfect timing, the Doctor rounded the corner just ahead. "Oh, hullo, Lady Galadriel."

"Doctor."

River tried not to feel too relieved when Galadriel turned her gaze to the Doctor. The feeling of intrusion faded as well, and she still wasn't sure if it was her imagination or not.

"River, I'm told the snow has stopped. What d'you say we go see how the TARDIS is doing?"

"You can go," River said, not sure why he needed her in the first place. "I'm perfectly happy to stay here. I wanted to – "

"No, I think you should come, too. I might need your help with something." The Doctor was studiously avoiding Galadriel's gaze, which was unusual. River frowned. She knew that look. That was his we-need-to-leave-now-before-things-go-south face. He had discovered something and was not willing to try to fix it. That was both unusual and worrisome.

"All right. I'll just get my coat."

The Doctor flashed Galadriel a smile, and left with River. River could feel her eyes on their backs as they walked away. As soon as they were out of earshot she asked, "All right, what happened?"

"I learned the date," the Doctor replied. "Listen, this place has already been – "

"Sacked, yes. Lady Galadriel mentioned Naugrim, whatever they are."

"Dwarves. But that's not important." The Doctor glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "It's going to be sacked again. This winter."

"What? But – "

"Not by Dwarves. Or orcs. By Elves. The sons of Fëanor – remember I told you about them last night?"

"But…"

"Dior has the Silmaril. They know it. They also know he's young, even by the standards of humans, let alone Elves. And he's not as powerful as Lúthien, and with Melian gone, Doriath is more vulnerable than it's ever been."

"So – was this in that book…?"

"Yes. It doesn't end very well for anyone, which is why we've got to get out of here."

"But can't you _do_ something? Can't you warn them, at least, or – "

"Some moments in time can't be rewritten," was all the Doctor said in reply to that, in a tone of finality.

Ouch. Low blow.

They made a quick stop in River's room to fetch her coat – and her journal – before making their way to Menegroth's gates. They got there just as a hunting party returned, which included Nimloth. She was smiling, flushed from the cold and excitement of the hunt, and held her bow like River held a lazar gun. Her expression changed to one of pleasant surprise when she spotted the Doctor and River. "Doctor, River, where are you going?"

"We were just going to pop out to the TARDIS, see how she's doing," the Doctor replied cheerfully. "Back in a flash. Just – "

"Oh, but Doctor, it is quite far to your box, and although it is not snowing, it has begun to rain, and the rain is turning to ice on the ground and in the trees. That is why our hunt was called off early." Nimloth handed her bow off to a servant, and removed her gloves. "You should not go alone."

"I'm sure we'll be fine," the Doctor began, but then Galadriel showed up.

"The Doctor means to leave us," she said. Nimloth frowned, and the Doctor sighed. "But why he feels he must go without farewell or telling us so, I cannot see."

"How do you – never mind. But now the cat's out of the bag, we really should get going. Places to be, planets to save…"

But they couldn't save this place, apparently. River bit the inside of her cheek. She didn't regret anything she'd done, not by a long shot, but her lesson on Fixed Points was not one she would forget anytime soon.

"Doctor," Nimloth said sharply, "you cannot leave like this. Come, we will see what my husband has to say."

The Doctor flashed River a rueful smile as they followed the Elven ladies. "Probably should've known better than to try that. Can't sneak anywhere with Elves around."

"Clearly."

The conversation with Dior was frustrating on all sides. The Doctor refused to explain why they needed to leave so suddenly, and Dior would not let them go without explanation. Perhaps it would have been easier if he had not met the Doctor before, and apparently gotten to know him well enough to recognize that this was unusual behavior. River stood to the side, watching the Doctor and Dior argue, and watching Galadriel and Nimloth watch them.

"Oh, for God's sake, Doctor, why can't we just tell them?" River said finally. It couldn't possibly make that much difference, if whatever was going to happen was going to happen as soon as the Doctor seemed to think. The Elves here were already on high alert anyway. The Doctor glared at her. She raised an eyebrow.

"…Fine, if it will get us out of here." The Doctor turned to Dior. "The sons of Fëanor. They're coming for the Silmaril. I don't think I need to tell you they aren't terribly happy, or that they plan on using force."

Galadriel frowned. "We know already it is likely my cousins will try to recover the Silmaril by force."

Her _cousins?_ River grimaced. She hadn't realized Lady Galadriel was _related_ to those crazy Fëanorions. How awful.

"Yes, well, are you expecting an attack in the snow? Because they aren't going to wait for the spring thaw."

Celeborn had been lurking in the shadows near the door. Now he stepped forward. "My lord, Malthor and I told you of the scout spotted just ere the Doctor's box fell from the sky…"

"Excuse _you_. The TARDIS does not _fall_ , that was an emergency landing – "

No one was listening. Apparently Celeborn, and others, had dismissed the scout as indicating anything amiss just then. They had thought the Noldor were simply getting a lay of the land and pinpointing the location of Menegroth. Now that it seemed they had been wrong, Dior gave a couple of short orders, and Celeborn vanished to carry them out. Nimloth, too, left the room. River had no doubt that in a very short while the whole of Menegroth would be in a flurry of preparation.

The Doctor turned to River. "Happy now?"

"Somewhat."

"We still need to _go_."

"But why? There must be _something_ we can – "

" _River_ …"

"Doctor."

"Doctor, how will this end?" Dior asked suddenly. River looked at him and realized with a start just how _young_ he was. He was older than she was, but compared to almost everyone else in this place he was barely more than a child. And yet he was their king, and whether or not Menegroth still stood after the Noldor left, credit or blame would be assigned to him. "If you know that they are coming, you must know the outcome."

The Doctor seemed unsure how to respond. But it lasted only a beat. "Whatever I say won't change what you're doing, will it?" he asked. Dior shook his head slowly. "Then there isn't any point in spoiling it." It was difficult to tell, but River thought his cheerfulness sounded forced. "But it's going to get a bit hairy, so River and I had better get out of your – "

"My lord!" The scout Malthor appeared in the doorway, bits of ice clinging to his hair, and melting on his shoulders. "The Noldor. They are here."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three: Booming Drums of the Regiment**

The Doctor's warning had come almost too little too late. There was too much to do and no time in which to do it. "Barricade the doors," Celeborn shouted over the din, needlessly, for there were already a dozen Elves piling up everything within reach.

When the Doctor appeared at Celeborn's side, he anticipated his request. "No, you cannot leave Menegroth now. Not by the main gates. Your box, I am afraid, lies in the path of the Noldorin wolves."

"Oh, I know that," said the Doctor, all traces of whimsy and cheerfulness gone. "I was only going to ask if you'd like my assistance."

Celeborn paused, and looked at the Doctor. "You are no warrior, Doctor."

The Doctor's smile was positively flinty. "I know a handful of planets who would disagree. What do you need?"

"Well, some way to buy time, but – "

"Oh, excellent." The Doctor pulled a strange device from the inner pocket of his jacket. "Time happens to be my specialty."

Celeborn did not linger to see what the Doctor did to buy them time at the doors of Menegroth, or how his strange, small device he called a screwdriver could be of any use. Instead, Celeborn hurried to the armory. It was crowded and loud as Doriath's warriors scrambled to arm themselves. He saw more than one set of shaking fingers belonging to seasoned warriors who had never cowered before the servants of the Enemy.

This time, though, they would not be fighting orcs. They would be fighting Elves – Elves who were supposed to be their allies.

"Somewhere in Angband, Morgoth is laughing," Celeborn muttered as Galadriel joined him. She did not reply as she helped him don his armor, her nimble fingers tugging on straps and fastening the buckles he could not reach. "Where are the children?"

"In their rooms. Nimloth has gone to take them deeper into the caves."

"If we cannot drive them back – "

"We will see them safely out of one of the back doors. Nimloth and I have already spoken of this." Galadriel stepped behind Celeborn and swiftly plaited his hair away from his face. "My heart tells me it will not be long before we look upon the Sea." There was something in her voice that reminded Celeborn of Finrod when he had spoken of his oath to Barahir, and what it meant for his ultimate fate. He didn't like it.

But she disappeared to wherever the women were gathering before he could ask her about it, so Celeborn sought out Dior. "The Silmaril is safe," Dior said before Celeborn could ask. "Nimloth is away with the children."

"Galadriel has told me they are safe." Celeborn handed Dior his sword.

Dior took it, and for a moment just stared at the hilt. It had belonged to Beren. Finally, he said, "The Doctor – he visited us several times in Tol Galen. Once, he took me with him when he left."

"What?"

"We traveled to another _world_. It was incredible, out there among the stars." Dior gestured toward the ceiling. "But in that other world, there was trouble. Not terribly unlike what is happening here..."

"So the Doctor brought you home," Celeborn said, thinking of the way the Doctor had looked at River when he spoke of leaving.

Dior shook his head. "No. We stayed, and he thwarted the invading forces. The Doctor does not wield a sword, but he _is_ formidable, when he needs to be. An entire world, not only a kingdom, was threatened, and he almost single-handedly stopped it." He looked up at Celeborn, and suddenly looked so _young._ Celeborn felt something in his gut twist. "So why was he so desperate to leave Doriath before the Fëanorions arrived?"

Because they were fated to fall, perhaps. "But the Doctor is here, now. If he is as great a warrior as you say – "

"He is not a warrior. Not like you or me. He cannot bluff his way into intimidating Fëanor's sons, especially not Curufin or Celegorm, who I am sure are motivated as much by hatred for me as by their Oath. Whatever the Doctor can do for us will not change the tide of battle. It will only buy us some time."

"Used wisely, time _can_ change a battle's tide," Celeborn replied. "The future is not set in stone, no matter what the Doctor may think he knows, and while we still breathe, there is hope."

They went to join the rest of the soldiers, but before they reached them Dior stopped. "Celeborn."

"Your grace?"

"If the battle goes ill – and if something happens to me – "

" _Dior_ – "

"You must get my children – and Nimloth, and everyone else you can – and get away. If there is no hope of victory you _must not linger._ "

Abandoning Menegroth went against every fiber in his being, but Celeborn had never been able to look Lúthien in the eye and deny her anything, and she had given those same eyes to Dior. And there were more important things than a fortress, even one as beautiful and ancient as Menegroth. So he nodded.

They found the Doctor busily giving directions while doing _something_ to some thread with his…screwdriver, which was glowing and making some sort of odd whining noise that set Celeborn's teeth on edge. "Doctor…?" Dior began.

"You need to buy time. I can buy you time," said the Doctor. "This place is a labyrinth, but everyone who lives here knows it like the back of their hand, correct? Correct. But Team Fëanor will have absolutely no idea where they are going."

"So we're going to fight them with thread…?"

"You catch on quickly," the Doctor said, beaming. "I've strengthened it a bit." He briefly waved his screwdriver. "Just to make sure it won't break. String it across the hallway and down they go! Like dominos! Only bigger, and probably armored so louder, too, all clangy."

"They won't just go rushing down corridors," Dior said. "Whatever else you may say about them, they are not stupid."

"That's why we'll give them something to chase," said River, appearing at the Doctor's side. "Hello, Sweetie."

The Doctor glared at her. "I thought I told you to go with – "

"I did. Then I came back."

Celeborn glanced around. They stood in the grand entrance hall, with many hallways and doors leading off of it. "But how do we control which corridors they choose?" he wondered aloud. Dior turned and surveyed the bustling room. "Ones that will lead them deep into Menegroth…"

"You won't win this battle in here," the Doctor said. "Not caught off guard with extremely limited warning – "

"No thanks to you," Celeborn muttered.

The Doctor ignored him. "There are back doors, and there's the front door. If we can lure enough of the Noldorin forces into the depths of this place, everyone can slip out of the various exits and head to some rendezvous of your choice. After that I suggest you head south. Maybe following the River Sirion…"

"We will not give up Menegroth unless there is absolutely no other choice," Dior said firmly.

"Well a couple of booby traps I'm thinking of will _probably_ , you know, bring ceilings down," the Doctor began. "So it may or may not be particularly habitable after all is said and – "

But Dior interrupted sharply, "We have rebuilt before, we can do it again." Gone was any sign of doubt or concern for what-ifs. Lúthien's eyes flashed with Beren's sharp determination, enough to silence anyone who dared protest his judgment once it was passed, and gone was the flash of vulnerability Celeborn had seen before. Dior was young, but he was strong and more than capable, both as a leader and as a warrior.

The Doctor sighed, and raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. "All right, you're the king..."

Celeborn was still skeptical about being able to drive the Noldor like cattle where they wanted them to go in Menegroth. And he was concerned about the sons of Fëanor themselves, who were _certainly_ not stupid. How could they be? Fëanor may have been mad, but he had been brilliant, too.

Part of Celeborn hoped he would get to face at least Celegorm, or Curufin. None in Doriath had ever forgiven them their treatment of Lúthien.

Everyone worked swiftly to implement the Doctor's ideas to trap the Noldor, and to guide them into parts of Menegroth where it was deemed the Sindar would have the advantage in battle. Thin threads and cords were laid criss-cross down the corridors, looped around things on the walls. A tug at the end once they were ready would raise the cords and pull them taught so that any hurrying through the darkness would trip – again and again. Those skilled in building and carving stone worked to weaken arches and ceilings to fall at the slightest careless move. While they did that, Dior sent the vast majority of Doriath's soldiers deep into Menegroth, to wait with their swords and bows. A smaller force remained near the gates, to engage the Noldor but briefly before fleeing.

"Would that we had the cover of darkness," Oropher muttered when they were nearly done. But there was no time to remove all the crystal lamps that lit the halls. "How will they not see what we have done?"

"No worries there," said the Doctor. He held up his screwdriver. "Say the word, and the only light you'll find in here will come from torches." Oropher narrowed his eyes at the device, clearly not believing a word the Doctor said. But Dior nodded, so the rest of them had no choice but to take the Doctor at his word.

A loud _BOOM_ made all of them jump. Even the Doctor tensed; River gripped his arm. _BOOM. BOOM. BOOM._ Rhythmical and steady, Celeborn felt the ground tremble beneath them. The great gates of Menegroth shook. Dust rained down from the ceiling around them. _BOOM._ The sound of chiseling ceased, and all of Menegroth fell silent.

It was beginning, and they weren't ready.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Four: Nothing Beside Remains**

After a moment of stunned silence, Dior barked out orders, and they all scrambled to finish the booby traps and to sufficiently block the passages down which they did not want the Noldor to run.

As the great doors of Menegroth started to splinter, Dior pulled the Doctor aside. They engaged in a swift, quiet conversation that River couldn't hear. Celeborn beside her, though, frowned after them. Apparently Elven hearing was keener than a regular human's. "What are they saying?" River asked.

_BOOM._

_CRACK._

Celeborn shook his head and didn't answer.

After a moment, Nimloth joined them. Her silver hair had been pulled back tightly from her face, giving her an almost severe look. She wore armor, and carried a bow in her hand. "We are ready," she said as Dior and the Doctor returned. Swiftly she kissed Dior, and vanished back down one of the corridors. River watched her go, feeling rather impressed. Dior watched her go looking an awful lot like Rory watching Amy flirt with someone else when they were teenagers, only worse.

"River, come on." The Doctor tugged on her arm as the doors splintered further. They could hear more clearly now the shouting coming from outside. _BOOM. BOOM._

"But – "

"We are _not_ playing foot soldier!" The Doctor pulled on her arm much more insistently this time, and River gave in, following him down a dark corridor lit only dimly by the crystal lamps she had spent most of their second day here trying to figure out.

They emerged into a gallery that held a couple dozen archers, including a surprising number of women. Somehow River had not expected Elven women to be involved in, well, fighting like this. Their society had seemed more antiquated than that.

As that thought passed through her mind, River realized how absurd it was. One would be hard pressed to find a _more_ antiquated society than this one, purely because it was just so _ancient_.

The Doctor waved to Nimloth, and pulled River down another corridor, this one somewhat more brightly lit. "Where are we going?" River demanded. She wanted to be involved in the fight, to try to save this beautiful, impossible place.

"To find the children," the Doctor replied. "Dior asked me to make sure they get out of here safely, and that is just what I intend to do."

River glanced over her shoulder. They were alone. "Do they get out in that book?"

" _The Silmarillion._ And yes, they do. Elwing ends up living near the mouths of the river Sirion, by the sea. The Silmaril escapes with her, and Galadriel and Celeborn and some other remnant of these people."

"…What about Eluréd and Elurín?"

"They get out of Menegroth. Just…not in a particularly good way." The Doctor's words and hesitation to talk about it sent images of tiny body bags and pools of blood spiraling through River's head. "They're the ones I'm worried about."

"But it's not…we _can_ save them, can't we?"

"I certainly intend to try." The Doctor halted at a fork in the corridors, and looked around. "You'd think they would hang maps up, or something. Like at theme parks…"

"Where are we going?"

"To find the children."

"… _Obviously_. I mean, where specifically?"

"Dior said they were down near the treasury…"

"Oh." River had meant to investigate, especially after hearing that it was where Thingol had died – that sort of morbid fascination with tombs that had really gotten her into archeology – but had not yet gotten around to it. "We have to go down some stairs to reach that, don't we?"

"Well, yes…" The Doctor turned in a circle, frowning. "But now do we go left or right?"

It was very unlike the Doctor to be so uncertain. River wondered if he'd been thrown off his game by having read the book. Only that couldn't be quite right, because he was a _Time Lord_. Spoilers were part of the whole package. He had no trouble keeping her future secret. "Doctor, what's the matter?"

"Did you not notice the army trying to get in?" They were too far into the caves now to hear the sounds of the battering ram against the doors, though River could feel faint vibrations beneath her feet with every blow.

"That's not what I mean."

He let out a heavy sigh, and glanced at River. "I don't like coming up against friends."

"Friends? Who…?"

"Never mind." He pulled out his sonic screwdriver. "Maybe I can lock on to the Silmaril. Wish I had gotten a good look at it before, but I think it might be giving off a bit of a signal…" He spun in a circle again, this time holding the screwdriver directly out in front of him. "Yes! This way!" He sprinted away down the right-hand corridor. River heard indistinct shouting behind her, and the ground shook beneath her again. The Noldor had entered the caves, the booby traps had been sprung. The battle had begun for real. River ran after the Doctor.

They found the children peering out of the treasury. "What is happening?" Elurín demanded. "Why did Naneth send us down here to hide? What – "

"Get inside now, come on." The Doctor gently ushered them back into the treasury. River glanced both ways down the corridor before following and shutting the door firmly behind her.

Inside, while the Doctor explained to the children what was going on, River paced the perimeter. It was a large room, with the same tree-pillars as the above halls, and smooth, vaulted ceilings. There were precious few pieces of treasure left. The Dwarves took their sacking quite seriously, apparently.

Not that the Noldor would care. There was only one thing they were after, and River was fairly certain it was tucked into the bag Elwing was clutching to her chest like a teddy bear. "Doctor," River called when she reached the doors again, "there are no other exits."

"There is way into the forest not far from here," Elurín said. "Naneth said someone might come and take us away through it."

"That someone might be us," the Doctor said. "River, keep a lookout. We'll take shifts; I'm not sure how long it will take."

River nodded, and pulled her blaster from its holster before opening the doors a crack and settling down for a long wait. After a few moments, Elurín came to join her. "Are there really Elves attacking us?" he asked.

"It seems so."

"Did you see them?"

"No. They hadn't through the doors when we left to come find you."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

"I wanted to know if the Noldor look different than us."

River crouched down. "I'm sure they do. More or less. Why wouldn't they?"

"The Doctor wouldn't tell us why they're attacking us." Elurín leaned against the wall, wrapping his small arms around himself.

River remembered too well being so small, and alone and confused. Unlike Elurín, though, she hadn't had anyone to turn to for answers or for help. Until she found her way to Leadworth. "They want the Silmaril," she said. She heard the Doctor sigh; he sounded vaguely exasperated, but she wasn't really one for sheltering kids. "And they think they can bully your father into giving it to them."

Elurín frowned, looking for a moment very much like his father. River wondered if their eyes came from Lúthien. "But it doesn't belong to them. Our grandparents…"

"I know. It's rather complicated, I gather." River wished she could meet Lúthien. Maybe she would ask the Doctor after they got out of this mess. Everything she had heard about the Elven princess made her seem like a fascinating person, albeit intimidating. Even more intimidating than Lady Galadriel. Not that River would ever admit out loud that she was intimidated by _anyone_ , but…

Eluréd and Elwing were curled up together by the wall, Eluréd with his head on Elwing's lap. Both of them were watching the Doctor, who paced the length of the treasury and back, pausing around one spot in particular. River narrowed her eyes at it, noticing a slight discoloration in the stone floor.

Oh. River grimaced and looked back down the hall. She couldn't hear anything, which was almost as bad as being able to hear the fighting. They had no way of knowing what was happening, except that people were dying. The Doctor had said that Elwing, at least, would reach the shore with the Silmaril; he hadn't said whether Dior and Nimloth would get there with her, only that Galadriel and Celeborn would. Did that mean the king and queen would die here, like Thingol before them?

What kind of faded bloodstains would other people someday find in this place?

After a while, Elurín returned to his siblings, and as they whispered together, the Doctor came to sit beside River. "Anything?" he asked. She shook her head. "I don't like this. Waiting." He made a face. "It's so _boring_."

"Patience is a virtue," River murmured, keeping her gaze turned down the hall. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Doctor roll his eyes.

"And to think I thought waiting while Vincent painted that old building was a bore…at least I could watch a genius at work."

"Vincent?" River glanced at him. "As in Van Gogh?"

"The one and only. He'd fallen half in love with Amy before we left."

"I bet Rory wasn't happy about that."

"Oh, Rory wasn't there."

"He wasn't?"

"This was before Venice."

"Oh."

The Doctor stood and started pacing again. River kept her ears open. If they needed to run, they would have to do it _before_ the enemy actually reached this hallway.

After what seemed like hours, she heard footsteps, the clink of armor as someone – several someones – ran toward them. River scrambled to her feet and raised her blaster. The Doctor immediately moved to her side. "Wait," he said. "Make sure…"

"I know."

The Doctor gestured for the children to stay back. "Get ready to run." Elwing immediately set about making sure the twins were bundled up and that they had their things.

River adjusted her grip on her blaster, but lowered it a moment later as relief rushed over her. It was Nimloth, and Galadriel. Nimloth still carried her bow, but her quiver was empty. Galadriel had an equally empty quiver, but had abandoned her bow. Instead she carried a long knife in one hand, and a torch in the other.

"Naneth!" The children nearly knocked Nimloth over when she and Galadriel entered the treasury. Nimloth gathered them close, and it was then that River saw the tear-tracks streaked through the battle grime on her face.

"What's happening?" the Doctor asked Galadriel.

"Dior has fallen," she said softly. The Doctor closed his eyes. "The battles is still on, but it will not be long before we are all scattered. We must get the children out of here." She turned her head sharply back the way she and Nimloth had come. "Your plan worked, Doctor, but only for a short time."

"It was only meant to buy time," the Doctor replied. "It won't be long until they make it here. The treasury _is_ the obvious storage place for treasure."

Nimloth rose, hands hovering over her children's shoulders, like she wanted to be touching all of them at once, though she only had two hands. "We must go," she said.

"This way," said Galadriel. "Doctor, come ahead with me." The Doctor nodded. "River, are you not armed?"

River raised her blaster, and shot at the ceiling. Galadriel gazed for a moment at the black mark, at the smoke hovering around it. "Very well," she said finally. "You come behind." River nodded. "The Noldor bear a many-pointed star upon their armor, the star of Fëanor. The Sindar bear no such device." River nodded again, glad to know that there was indeed an obvious difference between the Noldorin and Sindarin armor. "Come."

As River followed behind Nimloth and the children, she heard Elwing ask about Dior. Nimloth didn't answer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Five: I Could Not Stop For Death**

The battle started out well. The Doctor's booby traps, such as they were, helped to slow down the Noldor and to bottleneck them coming into the gallery where the Sindar waited. Bodies stuck with well-aimed arrows piled up before the doorways, further blocking the coming soldiers. The rusted-metal smell of blood filled the air as it pooled dark and sticky beneath the dead, and tracked across the stone (worn silky smooth by thousands of years of thousands of feet) by booted feet.

But there was no time to feel ill. Because when the tide of the battle turned, it turned sharply, with the ending of their supply of arrows. The Sindar were not accustomed to open battle – or to battle within such confined space, with nowhere to retreat or to hide. They fell back, and Sindarin blood flowed in dark rivers to mingle with Noldorin.

After what seemed like simultaneously hours and mere minutes, a pause descended on the battle, silence falling only broken by harsh breathing, as Dior Beren's son stepped forward to cross swords with Celegorm Fëanorion. Nimloth tried to push her way through the Sindarin ranks, but someone pulled her back.

The sound of two swords clashing echoed through the chamber, glinting silver and bood red-almost-black in the lamplight. Celegorm snarled at Dior in Quenya, who snapped back in the tongue of the Men of the house of Bëor – a mingling of Sindarin and the tongue Men taught themselves ere crossing the mountains into Beleriand. Celeborn tightened his grip on his sword, and scanned the room for the faces of Celegorm's brothers. The twins and Maedhros were easy to spot, their red hair spilling from beneath their helms, but Celeborn could not pick out the others.

As Dior parried a wild swing from Celegorm, Celeborn searched the faces of the Sindar for Galadriel, and found her quickly. It was she who held Nimloth back. Nimloth watched the fight tensed as though eager to spring to her husband's aide. Galadriel met Celeborn's gaze for a moment, and an unspoken understanding passed between them: if Dior fell – though it did not seem likely, for he had Celegorm on the defensive now – she would take Nimloth, get the children, and run.

The duel ended suddenly. The hall fell utterly silent as Celegorm fell to the floor. His helmet rolled from his body to rest at the feet of his brother Maedhros; a dark pool of blood blossomed beneath him, staining his fair hair as the light of Valinor and of life vanished from his eyes. Celegorm would rise no more.

Dior stood, clutching his sword, staring at the body before him. For what seemed like both seconds and hours, no one moved.

Celeborn wasn't sure anyone had really expected Dior to win.

But instead of convincing the Noldor to fall back, the loss of Fëanor's third son only increased their fervor. The battle resumed suddenly with a mighty cry, and Celeborn soon lost sight of Dior, Nimloth, and Galadriel in the melee. An elf bearing the Star of Fëanor on his breast rose up suddenly, red-faced and snarling with fury, and Celeborn cut him down before realizing the resemblance between this elf and the sons of Fëanor he had recognized.

A scream cut through the red haze of battle – a scream Celeborn knew. "Nimloth!" He fought his way to her side, as she strove against another of Feanor's sons, Dior lying at their feet, eyes wide open and staring, mouth agape as though in surprise. Celeborn pulled Nimloth from the fight just ere the Feanorion attempted a killing blow. It caught on Celeborn's blade, jarring him down to the bone. "Go!" he ordered his niece, pushing her away. "Find the children!"

He did not watch to see whether she obeyed; he could only hope. Fighting in such close quarters, to delay or become distracted was to die – and Celeborn had no intention of dying; he had orders from his king, and fully intended to see them through.

This second son of Fëanor died at Celegorm's hand, falling across the body of Dior, heavy and graceless. Celeborn rose up and shouted, "Fall back! The king is dead! Fall back!" They were already pressed against the wall, overrun by Noldor with bright eyes and heavy armor. "Fall back!"

Oropher, Malthor, and others took up the cry as well. "Pull back! Dior is fallen!"

They scattered; there was more than one secret exit from Menegroth, and Celeborn could only hope that at least a remnant of the Doriathrim would manage to escape, though whether they would find each other in the forest afterward remained to be seen.

In the labyrinth of dark hallways – the Doctor must have extinguished lamps on his way to the treasury – it was easier to lose the Noldor. Celeborn found Malthor, and pulled him into a dark corner, quiet for the moment. "Galadriel," was all he could say as he strove for breath.

"I saw her flee with Nimloth after Dior fell," Malthor said. Celeborn's knees went weak with relief. But there was no time for thanksgiving or for grieving: they needed to find Galadriel, Nimloth, and the children, and get out of there. Celeborn hoped that they were already on their way out of the caves, and that the Doctor would be of some protection, if he was truly as mighty as Dior had said.

If they were on their way out, they would go to the exit nearest the treasury. Celeborn and Malthor found a handful of others and at Celeborn's insistence, made their way in that direction, pausing often to hide in secret alcoves as Noldor passed by, arguing about which way to turn as their torches cast dancing, grotesque shadows on the walls.

Ahead, suddenly, Celeborn heard another scream, followed by strange noises, and the sound of swords. "Nimloth!" he shouted, and rushed toward the sound. But the corridors in Menegroth proved deceptive: the echoes led them in the wrong direction at first, and by the time they reached the right place, everyone was gone. Except for Nimloth. She lay in the middle of the hallway, blood pooling and starting to congeal beneath her, staining her beautiful silver hair. Her fingers still clutched her sword; nearby lay a strange device that seemed familiar – something the Doctor's companion had been carrying.

Celeborn fell to his knees and gathered his niece into his arms. Her body was still warm, the blood sticky against his cheek and his hands. He felt a hand on his back but paid it no mind. Nimloth's beautiful face, twisted in the pain and fear of her ending, blurred before his eyes.

His fingers brushed her neck, maybe searching for a pulse even though he knew it was useless. Where were her pearls? Galadhon and Galathil had traveled once to the Falas, acting as messengers for Thingol to Círdan. They had come back with chests filled with pearls; one lovely strand had been a gift from Galathil to his daughter, and Celeborn had never seen her without them after.

He knew he had seen them when the battle began, glowing almost orange in the torchlight. But where were they now? Had the Noldor taken them, their greed for the Silmaril not enough?

"Who goes there?" Oropher called out suddenly, voice rough, from shouting through the battle or from the tightness of grief, Celeborn didn't know. He looked up to see shapes moving in the shadows of an alcove not far from there.

"Uncle Celeborn!" Little Elwing emerged. Celeborn laid Nimloth gently back to the ground and caught Elwing in his arms, holding her tightly as she clung to him, weeping. "Uncle Celeborn, where did they take them?"

"Take who, Elwing?"

"My brothers, and Lady Galadriel, and Lady River. We ran but they did not come behind us."

The Doctor stepped out of the shadows as well, his strange screwdriver in his hand. His jaw was set, eyes dark. "Dior?" he asked. Celeborn shook his head. The Doctor lowered his head, almost as though it was just what he had expected.

"What?" Elwing asked, pulling back to look at Celeborn. Her eyes – Lúthien's eyes, and Dior's – were wide and dark in the torchlight. "Where is Ada? What happened to him?"

Celeborn rose, still holding Elwing, and looked around for her things. The Doctor gestured to his shoulder. "I've got her bag," he said. "But I need to go after River."

"We need to get out of here," Oropher said. "Now, while there is still a chance."

"Oropher is right," Malthor said. "They have the boys, but Lady Galadriel is with them. She is Noldor, they will listen to her."

Perhaps. At least they were alive: if the Noldor had wanted to kill them they would not have hesitated; Nimloth lay at their feet as proof. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. There would be time later to grief, if not to give proper honor to the dead. "Doctor, you will come with us," he heard himself say before opening his eyes. "You are unarmed," he continued before the Doctor could protest, "and you cannot expect them to show you mercy."

The Doctor's eyes blazed. "I've taken on worse," he said. "I've fought in far worse battles than this one, Celeborn, and come out of them alive. I'm not leaving here without River."

"She is with my wife, and Malthor is right. Galadriel is known to them, kin to the sons of Fëanor, and if she – "

"That's all well and good, and maybe it will save her life, and maybe the lives of Nimloth's sons, but you cannot tell me that the Feanorions will give River the same consideration. I know for a _fact_ that Celegorm and Curufin have no reason to love the race of Men – "

"Celegorm and Curufin are dead," Oropher said. "Celegorm fell to Dior's sword, and Curufin to Celeborn's. The battle is over; we must trust that perhaps their madness has subsided as well, and that Lady Galadriel will convince Maedhros to let them go. For our part, we must flee with what we have, to protect Princess Elwing."

"No!" Elwing said loudly. "We cannot leave without Eluréd and Elurín and Ada! Where is he? What has happened to my Adar?"

"Hush, Elwing." Celeborn glanced over his shoulder, hearing shouting. "Malthor, take the rear. If that is our people behind us, tell them to follow. Doctor, you will come with me."

"Celeborn – "

"I am Prince of the Doriathrim and in Dior's absence you will obey my orders!"

The Doctor did not protest, and fell into step behind Celeborn, who still carried Elwing. Oropher carried Nimloth's body to the alcove and there laid her gently, placing her sword upon her chest and closing her eyes, murmuring words of apology and farewell. Celeborn found himself wishing that Daeron had never vanished, for who else would write a lay fit to honor all who had fallen this night?

The only noise as they traveled was the tread of the Doctor's shoes on the stone, and Elwing's quiet weeping. She clung to Celeborn heedless of the blood all over him. They were joined by a dozen more soldiers, and half a dozen more women, some with children of their own wrapped in blankets. They whispered news to each other – questions and answers; who was dead? Who yet lived? Where would they go from here?

The Doctor had suggested earlier they travel South, following the River Sirion. Celeborn had thought him joking, then, but now it did not seem like such a farfetched idea. "Where will this exit bring us?" asked the Doctor.

"To the north side of the hill," Celeborn replied. "We will find a way to cross the Esgalduin, and follow it to where it joins the River Sirion in Brethil."

"I need to find the TARDIS."

"It is on that side of the river. We will pass it, skirting the Noldorin camp, though it may be that they have found and claimed it."

The Doctor snorted. "They wouldn't be the first. Fat lot of good it will do them, without this." He pulled a key from his pocket, small and flat and plainer than any key Celeborn had ever seen. "If we _all_ got to the TARDIS, I could take everyone all the way to the mouths of Sirion, by the sea."

"Doctor, you speak madness," said Oropher behind them.

"Yes, well, I get that a lot…"

At last, they found the secret door; it was almost invisible from the outside, for it was of Dwarven craft. The Doctor and Oropher pushed it open easily; it swung on silent hinges out into the snow in a blast of frigid air. Celeborn stood back with Elwing as his followers filed out, and then stepped into the snow behind Malthor. Elwing shivered in his arms. "Your brothers will be well, little one," Celeborn murmured into her hair. "They are with Galadriel. She will see them safe." Even the Kinslayers would not murder defenseless children.

Once outside, Celeborn nodded to Oropher and Malthor, giving them the lead. The women with children, and those who were unarmed (including, to his chagrin, the Doctor) were grouped together, and those still armed surrounded them, several fanning out as scouts. Oropher took the lead; Malthor remained the rearguard.

Celeborn walked just within the perimeter guard, for he would not allow anyone else to carry Elwing. All around them the forest was utterly silent; the stars were starting to fade with the coming of dawn, red in the east, like blood.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Six: Lovely, Dark, and Deep**

It all happened so fast that River couldn't be quite sure what, exactly, had happened. All she knew was that one moment they had been hurrying along a dark passage, lit only by Galadriel's flickering torch, and the next she found herself staring at Nimloth's body while the Doctor yanked the children from harm's way and Galadriel stood, tall and suddenly seeming to shine with her own light, demanding that the soldiers let them pass.

The soldiers hesitated before Galadriel, until Eluréd and Elurín escaped the Doctor's hold and ran to their mother, weeping and clinging to her. "Those are Dior's brats," someone said, and that seemed to snap them back into action. River found herself being taken captive along with Galadriel, who did not resist but insisted upon being taken to Maedhros, and the boys. River glanced back toward the Doctor, knowing he would be torn between protecting her and protecting Elwing. She shook her head, hoping he would get the message.

She would be fine. She was always fine. "Ow, watch where you're grabbing!" she snapped. "I'm warning you…"

"This one is not an Elf!"

"I _am_ a bit of a psychopath, so if you aren't careful – " They gagged her when she wouldn't stop talking. Galadriel sent River a look that clearly indicated she should stay quiet and let Galadriel do all the talking. The boys were carried like sacks of potatoes thrown over armored shoulders. River wished she could tell them everything was going to be okay.

She wished she had read the story, so she _knew_ whether everything was going to be okay.

The route they took back was meandering, as the Noldor tried to retrace their steps through unfamiliar halls. River could not hear any sounds of fighting; when they reached the gallery where most of the battle had taken place, the smell of blood almost made her gag. It definitely affected the two boys. Eluréd started retching once he was put down. Elurín still had tears streaming down his face, but he remained silent, with his arms around his brother. In one hand he clutched a string of blood-smeared pearls.

"Where is Maedhros?" Galadriel demanded loudly. "I demand to speak with my cousin – what are you _doing?_ " Several of the soldiers, after a brief, whispered discussion, had picked up the boys again. "Release them! They are under my protection – "

"You are in no position to protect anyone, Lady Artanis," said the one holding Eluréd. "These brats are the sons of Dior, are they not?" He gestured toward the king's body, which had been laid to the side with a surprising amount of respect, River thought. "He slaughtered our Lord Celegorm – "

"Celegorm was cut down in battle because as his name foretold he rose hastily and without thought," Galadriel snapped. "I witnessed his death. Dior fought with honor – more honor than you now show. They are innocent _children_ – "

But nothing she said would persuade Celegorm's men to release the boys into her custody. River tried desperately to get free, kicking and clawing and generally being very unsuccessful, because as it turned out the Noldor made extremely effective armor. "What will we do with her?" demanded the soldier still trying to keep River under control. "She is no Elf of Doriath – "

"Bind her hands and bring her."

" _Wait_ ," Galadriel said. "You cannot – "

"Were you not kin to our lord, Lady Artanis, we would have slain you where you stood for joining with these Moriquendi." The Elf holding Eluréd spat at Galadriel's feet. "You are a prisoner; we do not follow your orders."

River dug in her heels and cursed and promised to do all kinds of unpleasant things if she was not immediately released, but they only readjusted her gag and bound her hands painfully tight behind her back, before dragging her out of Menegroth's once great doors, now splintered and caved in, out into the snowy night. The cold air shocked River's lungs, sharp and fresh after the blood-scented, stale, warm air inside Menegroth. Even in armor, the Elves tread lightly atop the snow, leaving little in the way of footprints. River was, of course, much heavier, and she took full advantage, dragging her feet and doing all she could to leave a clear trail.

Not that it would mean much. The snow came down around them thick and heavy, and when River looked back she could already see her footprints filling with snow.

By the time they stopped, River was thoroughly lost. Any light that spilled out of Menegroth had long since been left far behind; all around them were trees and snow, and silence. They shoved River into a snow bank, and dropped the children on top of her. River grunted and groaned with the sudden weight. That was going to bruise.

River did not hear the Elves leave, and they never said why they had just brought them out here to leave them. But she assumed they were gone when she felt little fingers tugging at the knotted ropes around her wrists. It took several minutes, but the boys freed her, and she was able to rip the gag off of her mouth. "Thanks," she said, sitting up and shaking snow out of her hair. "You two all right?" They nodded, but both of them had already begun shivering. Elurín still clutched the string of pearls in his little fist. River got to her feet and looked around. "I don't suppose you know where we are," she said.

"No," Elurín said. Eluréd shook his head. "We've never been this far from Menegroth."

"Well, okay then." River turned to study her footprints. They were already so filled with snow, she knew that following the trail back would only get them more lost. "Well first things first. We need to get you two warm." She was starting to shiver, herself.

"How?" Eluréd asked.

"Shelter. We can dig one out of the snow. You've made snow forts and things before, haven't you?" River asked. The twins nodded. "Good. Let's try over here." River stumbled through the snow to a particularly large drift, and fell to her knees to begin digging. She wished she had thought to grab her coat on the way to the treasury, before the battle started…

Eluréd and Elurín joined her, and together they packed the snow into a small, cozy cave. "It isn't very big," Eluréd said when they were done.

"It's big enough. We'll have to cuddle together, to stay warm as possible," River replied. She looked around, and found a fir tree nearby. "Here, help me get some of these inside." She broke off some branches, and the boys dragged them into the shelter. River silently acknowledged her gratefulness for all of that survival research she had done as a teenager – because she literally never knew what might happen.

That was still true, of course. River ushered the boys into the shelter, and they curled up on either side of her on top of the prickly branches. "There now," she said. "We'll be all right at least for tonight. And tomorrow…" Tomorrow they would have to figure something out, because although the boys were dressed for the cold, didn't have their blankets anymore, and the rough handling by the soldiers had left their coats somewhat tattered. And now thanks to the digging they were all damp, which didn't help.

They needed a way to take their mind off of things. Off of Dior and Nimloth, and Menegroth's fall, and their own rather dire situation. "How about a story?" she asked.

"About you and the Doctor?" Elurín asked, brightening immediately.

"Well, I think he already told you all the good ones. But. Um…" River wrinkled her nose as she thought of all the legends and fairy tales and folk stories she had learned over the years. "Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a king and a queen. They loved each other very much, and were very happy when they had a baby girl, a princess. She had skin white as snow, lips red as roses, and hair black as ebony, so they named her – "

"Lúthien?" Elurín interrupted. "We know _that_ story, Lady River. Lúthien was our grandmother."

River blinked. "I wasn't talking about Lúthien," she said. "After all, I said this was a kingdom faraway, didn't I? Anyway, they named the princess Snow White – "

"Snow White is a name sometimes used for the Lady Elbereth!" It was Eluréd's turn to interrupted. "There is a hymn Lady Galadriel sings sometimes…"

"Oh?" The story was clearly not going to get very far. "Why don't you sing it for me, then? I'd like to hear it."

So the night turned into a sing-a-long. Eluréd and Elurín taught River songs to Elbereth and Yavanna, and lays written by the great minstrel Daeron. In return she taught them silly songs and nursery rhymes, and a couple of hits from The Beatles (which she knew only because Rory had gone through a very serious phase in their early teens).

Eventually, they fell asleep, huddled together, while the snow continued to pile up outside.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Seven: Every Grief I Meet**

Maedhros did not appear until well after Celegorm's cruel servants had vanished into the snow with River and the boys. Galadriel almost felt pity for him as he approached, walking carefully among the wounded and the dead. His face was lined and grey, his once-brilliant hair dull and matted with blood. He did not want to be here, that much was clear.

But he _was_ here, and the bright red blood splattered across his breastplate eliminated every ounce of pity Galadriel might have had for him. "Artanis…?"

She slapped him, as hard as she could. The sound rang throughout the hall, and silence descended as all turned to look at the woman who dared strike the eldest son of Fëanor. Good. Let them see. "How _dare_ you," she cried. "Where were you when Celegorm ordered such cruelty of his servants?"

"Artanis, what…?"

"They are _children!_ "

Maglor appeared at Maedhros' side. "Whose children do you speak of, cousin?"

"Dior's," Galadriel snapped. "Your brother's servants dragged them out into the forest to do Valar know what! How could you let this happen?"

"I know nothing of this," Maedhros protested. "No one was to harm any children – "

"Their mother was cut down before their eyes, and now they will freeze to death." Galadriel wanted to slap him again, but restrained herself. Barely. "All because of your cursed Oath!" Maedhros and Maglor flinched, and the room fell silent again. "What other survivors you find are under _my_ protection," Galadriel continued. "If they are harmed, I will swear my _own_ oath before Manwe and Elbereth and Ilúvatar Himself."

"We have already given such orders," Maedhros said. "No women or children will be harmed."

_"Or_ men," Galadriel snapped. "They will not fight you now. This greatest kingdom of Beleriand has fallen."

Maedhros turned away, and Maglor returned to his previous activities. As it turned out, they included laying out the dead to be fittingly honored, both Sindar and Noldor. Dior himself was set aside, far away from the bodies of Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir. Galadriel stood with her fists clenched, praying for patience and calm. She could do nothing for Eluréd and Elurín but hope that River would care for them, and that they would be found – by Celeborn, perhaps, or by the Doctor.

As she watched the bodies grow in number, and listened to the moans of the wounded, her fury gave way, for a time, to grief. She remembered the devastation wrought by the Dwarves, and the keening of the Sindar mourning their King Greymantle. The sun and moon had seemed to darken, like a great shadow had fallen over Doriath. But Melian's grief had been the worst: she had been silent, struck dumb, it seemed, by the death of her beloved – a loss her soul could not take after the choice Lúthien had made, to be sundered from her Elven kin for ever. Galadriel had been one of the last to see the queen before her body dissolved like mist and her spirit fled back over the Sea.

Galadriel found herself searching the bodies for a head of silver hair wondering what she would do should Celeborn have perished. She reined in her thoughts sharply. She could not think like that. Celeborn was _fine_. Likely he had already found Elwing, and they were out of Menegroth and on their way to safety. As it was, she flinched away from every familiar face, remembering Alqualondë with sudden terrible clarity. The bloody water swirling in the gem-strewn fountains suddenly gained eerie similarity to the glittering beach of Alqualondë, and the bloodstained foam, terrible in the red torchlight.

"Artanis." Maedhros appeared before her again, wearing a heavy cloak and having shed most of his armor.

She blinked at him, suddenly seeing flames in her mind's eye, watching him burn. _He will die,_ she thought, _and like his father before him his spirit will burn so brightly as it flees there will be nothing left to bury._ She did not know how she felt about this brief moment of clear foresight, and she was not given an opportunity to dwell on it, because Maedhros was speaking.

"Artanis, I will find them and deliver them to you," he said. "All other survivors found will be brought to you, and you may leave this place to go where you wish. I promise, I knew nothing of Celegorm's intentions."

For a split second Galadriel wanted to throw her arms around her cousin as she had when she was a young girl. But the impulse passed, and she nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak. Maedhros left with a swirl of his cloak, and as she watched him vanish outside, Galadriel knew she would never see her cousin again.

One of the twins – Amrod or Amras, it was impossible to tell beneath the blood and grime – came to lead Galadriel to a quieter, smaller chamber off the gallery. "None of us knew of Celegorm's cruelty," he told her softly. She remembered Ambarussa in childhood, with large grey eyes bright with curiosity and wonder. They were large still, but darkened with grief. "I am sorry."

But not sorry enough. Galadriel sat down stiffly and clasped her hands in her lap, trying not to think of Eluréd and Elurín freezing in the snow, or of Nimloth lying in a growing pool of her own blood, or of Celeborn and Elwing cut down and the Silmaril ripped from Elwing's tiny hands –

"Lady Galadriel!" Lindir, along with a handful of women and children were ushered into the room by grim-faced Noldor. They gathered around Galadriel like chicks around a mother hen, eager for what news she could give them, and filled with questions of the future: where would they go? What would they do? How would they live? Would the Noldor _let_ them go?

"They will let us go," Galadriel said, holding up her hands to calm them. Others trickled in, cringing away from their Noldor escorts. Mothers with young children, and children who should have been clinging to their parents, but who clung to one another instead. There were so few men, only Lindir and one or two others who had not been warriors, but artists or healers instead. So few were equipped for a long journey, especially in winter. "We must remain calm…"

"Where are Elwing and the boys?" someone asked. "Where is Nimloth?"

It was the one question Galadriel could not make herself answer. She floundered for a moment, but was saved from answering by a strange sound, and a sudden inexplicable wind that whipped around the room. Her first thought was of Manwë, and she wondered if this second Kinslaying was so heinous in the eyes of the Valar that they had come in person to deal out judgment.

But instead, a strange blue box with small windows and a white sign on the door appeared in the corner, fading in and out for a moment before seeming to establish itself. Once it did so, the wind died down, and the strange noise stopped. Everyone backed away, most pressing behind Galadriel, who gazed with narrowed eyes at the door.

It opened, and, of all things, the Doctor poked his head out. "Oh, hello!" He grinned and stepped out of the box. "Oh, good, I made it inside. Was a bit worried, there. Thought I might get stuck half in a wall. Oh, Lady Galadriel! Good, you're here. Where's River?" Without waiting for Galadriel to answer, he scanned the gathered Elves, and his smile faded, to be replaced by a deep frown. "River isn't here, is she." It was a statement, not a question, and Galadriel merely shook her head. "Celegorm's servants?"

Galadriel started. "How did you…?"

"Long story. All right, everybody in." The Doctor clapped his hands and gestured toward his box. Nobody moved. "Oh come on, none of you are even the _least_ bit curious about this old box?" He slapped the wood. "What it looks like, how it works?"

"Doctor, it is too small," Lindir said.

Galadriel cut in. "We have more important things to concern us, Doctor," she snapped. "We must leave Doriath, but where or how are yet to be – "

"Celeborn has a party heading south," the Doctor interrupted cheerfully. "They're heading for the River Sirion right now, and plan to follow it to the Sea. I can take you to meet them, _and_ I've got plenty of supplies, clothing, et cetera, et cetera." He rubbed his hands together, looking around at all the blank faces. Then he sighed. "Oh all right, I'll ruin the surprise. The TARDIS isn't _actually_ this small on the inside." He patted the box again. "There's plenty of room and more. I promise."

It was the children who stepped forward first, rushing to the box and stopping short to peer tentatively inside. They gasped, and glanced over their shoulders at the rest of the adults. "It _is_ bigger on the inside!"

Lindir approached, and got the same wide-eyed look on his face as the children. The Doctor watched in something like amused satisfaction as the children dashed inside, Lindir on their heels. "No pressing any buttons!" he called after them, as though calling into a large room. Galadriel heard laughter echoing out of the box's door, the desperation and tragedy of their predicament momentarily forgotten.

The adults followed, some more quickly than others, wanting to make sure the children were all right. Galadriel followed last of all. By some miracle, none of her cousins or their servants had come into the room to discover the Doctor. She paused outside of the door. "You have seen Celeborn?" she asked.

The Doctor nodded, all traces of amusement gone. "Yes," he said softly. "He's with a party of soldiers, and some women and children – fewer than you've got here. And Elwing."

Elwing was safe, then. "Did you not offer them passage in this…box?"

"I did. Several times. No one wanted to make the trek to the TARDIS and go so far off course." The Doctor shrugged. "Probably for the best." There he went again – saying things like he knew, for certain, what was coming.

Knowledge of the future was a dangerous thing. Galadriel knew that as well as anyone counted wise. The Doctor seemed to know it, too. But she could not stop herself from asking: "Doctor – Eluréd and Elurín. What is their fate?"

The Doctor took a deep breath, clearly torn. So she asked another question: "Will they live?"

"I can't answer that."

"Doctor – "

"I mean, I _can't_. I don't know."

"But you know _something_."

The Doctor glanced toward the door leading to the gallery. "Do you think there are any more of your people out there?"

"I know not. Menegroth is aptly named. But I do not know if all of my cousins' servants will be as merciful as Maedhros has commanded." She too glanced toward the door. At any moment Maglor or one of the twins might step through it. "But we should not linger."

"I agree. I don't think we want any unsavory characters getting their hands on the TARDIS." The Doctor cast one last look around, an odd, mournful look on his face, before stepping inside.

Galadriel followed, and froze as he shut the door behind her. It truly was larger, a great room with a high ceiling and many bright lights, all bright colors and glass floors and geometric designs. In the center of the room was a strange round table filled with levers and buttons and knobs. Most of the children were examining it with interest.

"Just give me a moment to get us out of here," the Doctor said, springing up the steps to the strange table, "and then I'll get you all settled. There are bedrooms aplenty, and the kitchen is quite nice and roomy…"

The whole room shuddered, and with soft cries the Elves clutched railings or each other as the strange whirring sound filled their ears. But the shaking lasted only a few moments, before something stabilized, and the Doctor was spinning away from the center of the room. As he had said, there were many rooms within this ship, the TARDIS. There were rooms to clean themselves, and rooms with clothes soft and warm. Galadriel scrubbed her face and hands until her skin was pink and raw.

When things settled down, she found the Doctor in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a mug of something fragrant. He stared into the steamy brown liquid without really seeing it. "Doctor?"

He jumped, and looked up. "Oh, Lady Galadriel. Everything all right?"

"What do you know of Eluréd and Elurín?"

"Oh, that again." The Doctor took a sip, gazing at Galadriel.

"Yes, that again. Those boys were placed under my protection, Doctor, and if you know where they are – "

"I don't." The Doctor sighed, and set down his mug. Galadriel could see the deep-seated weariness in him. "And if you'll remember, it's not only the boys who are out in the forest. River is out there, too."

"And yet you sit here doing nothing – "

"I'm not doing _nothing_. I'm taking you and your people to a place where you can meet Celeborn and Elwing and their party. And I'm also giving you all a bit of a chance to rest before you have to make that journey down the river." The Doctor took another sip and gestured for Galadriel to sit. She did so, stiffly. "The lovely thing about the TARDIS is that she's a time machine. When I go looking for River – and Dior's sons – I could show up only a moment or so after they're left alone in the forest. Though more likely it will be a couple of hours. Bit of a margin of error, there."

"Why not go find them now?" Galadriel asked.

The Doctor sighed. "Because history says – oh, what was the phrase…" He pulled a book from a pocket of his jacket, its cover somewhat tattered, and decorated with what appeared to be Lúthien's seal.

"What is that?"

"You might say it's a history book. Long story." The Doctor pulled it closer to him when Galadriel reached for it. "Sorry. I'm afraid you can't read it."

"Why not?"

"Because it has more than a few spoilers – bits of the future. I probably shouldn't even be sharing the bit I'm going to read to you, but…" He cleared his throat, and opened the book, to a page not terribly far from the end. "Let's see, let's see…ah, here it is.

"'They came at unawares in the middle of winter, and fought with Dior in the Thousand Caves; and so befell the second slaying of Elf by Elf. There fell Celegorm by Dior's hand, and there fell Curufin, and Dark Caranthir; but Dior was slain also, and Nimloth his wife, and the cruel servants of Celegorm seized his young sons and left them to starve in the forest. Of this Maedhros indeed repented, and sought for them long in the woods of Doriath; but his search was unavailing, and of the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells.'"

Galadriel rose so swiftly her chair nearly tipped over. "You said you did not know if they lived – "

"'Of the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells,'" the Doctor repeated calmly. "All that says to me is that at the time of the writing of this – which I don't know, so don't bother asking – no one knew the fate of the boys. It's reasonable to _assume_ they perished in the forest, but really that's all it is."

Galadriel slowly sank back into her chair. "Then…"

"If and when I find the boys, I promise you I'll make sure they'll grow up safe and sound." The Doctor closed the book. "But I'm afraid I cannot bring them to Sirion. Sometimes history cannot be rewritten."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Eight: A Long Dreary Season**

The grey, colorless days of trudging through the snow blended together so that Elwing lost count before they reached the mingling of the Esgalduin and Sirion. The Doctor had told them to wait there, if they found themselves there first. "Of course we will reach it before he does," she had heard Oropher mutter as the Doctor had left with Malthor in search of his box. "What is it he expects to do?"

Now they were there. Elwing ventured to the banks of the river to watch the clear Esgalduin mingle with the muddy brown waters of Sirion. Behind her, someone started a fire, and the other adults set up camp as best they could. There was not as much snow, here. Only cold, half-frozen mud. Elwing huddled in her cloak and bounced on the balls of her feet.

"Elwing." Celeborn came to kneel beside her, one of his big hands resting on her back. "Why don't you come sit by the fire? It's warmer."

Elwing turned to face him. She had heard the whispers, as they traveled. "Is my Adar dead?" she asked. The pained look that passed across Celeborn's face, and the way he didn't answer immediately, was answer enough. Elwing knew she should probably weep. But all of her tears seemed to be frozen.

"I'm sorry, Elwing."

"And Eluréd and Elurín…?"

"I do not know. We can only hope that Galadriel has been able to protect them. And that the Sons of Fëanor will draw the line at killing children."

But her father had still been practically a child, in the eyes of the Eldar. But she didn't say that, and let Celeborn lead her back to the fire. She wanted to ask _why_ , why the Silmaril was so important that the Noldor would kill for it and her parents would die to keep it from them. But she knew the only answer she would receive would be the story of her grandparents' Quest, which was no answer at all, because even that did not answer the question of why the Silmarils were the most valuable treasure in Arda.

Then a sudden gust of wind swept through the camp, accompanied by a strange sound that grated on Elwing's ears. She covered them with her hands and huddled against Celeborn, who pressed her close against his side as he drew his sword.

But instead of enemies, a strange blue box appeared out of thin air on the riverbank. "It is the Doctor's box," Malthor said. Celeborn sheathed his sword as the door opened.

Sure enough, it was the Doctor who poked his head out. He grinned. "Oh, hello, everyone! Hope you haven't been waiting too long. Had to make a quick stop in the Andromeda Galaxy to get some groceries. Save a planet. You know how it goes."

"Doctor, what…?" Celeborn began.

"Celeborn!" Galadriel flew out of the box and into his arms. Elwing stepped out of their way, and toward the Doctor's box as others streamed out. There were many children, but none of them were her brothers. She stood alone in the midst of a swarm of tearful reunions. Where were Eluréd and Elurín? She turned to Lady Galadriel, but stopped short of trying to get her attention, not wanting to disturb her and Celeborn.

"Hullo, Elwing." The Doctor knelt in front of her. "How are you doing, eh?"

"My brothers are not here," she said.

The look in his eyes was very sad. "No," he said, "they're not."

"Are they dead?"

"I don't know. But there were some very cruel men back there." The Doctor squeezed her shoulder. "Come into the TARDIS a moment. I've got something for you." He took her hand and led her to his box.

Elwing stepped inside and gasped. She let go of the Doctor and ran back outside, and peered around the corner of the box. Then she ran all the way around it. It was so small! Then she peered back inside. So big! "Is it magic?" she asked, stepping back inside. It was warm, too, and filled with a soft golden glow.

The Doctor laughed. "That's as good an explanation as any. But here." He sprang up some stairs to a strange round table filled with strange things, and hit a couple of buttons. Elwing followed slowly. "Now, I know you have a Silmaril. It's quite beautiful, isn't it? Like a star you can hold in your hands." Elwing nodded. "Well, this isn't a Silmaril, but I think it's rather pretty. Do you remember when I asked you what your favorite color was?"

"Um…"

"Probably not. Lots of stuff has happened. And technically I didn't ask you. I bet you a slice of honey bread I could guess it."

Elwing giggled in spite of herself. "And you guessed all the wrong colors."

"That I did, and you got all the honey bread." The Doctor winked. "I've got some biscuits in the kitchen. Fancy a jammie dodger?"

"What is that?"

"It's delicious, is what it is. Come on." The Doctor led her down a hallway to a cozy kitchen with many strange devices. He took a brightly colored metal tin from a cupboard, and poured a cup of cold milk for Elwing and for himself. The biscuits were small and round, with some kind of jam in the middle. She tasted one, and found it to be delicious. "It's raspberry!"

The Doctor popped one into his mouth whole, and pulled a small box from one of his pockets. "Now, if I recall correctly, you said your favorite color is blue." Elwing nodded. Blue like the sky over Tol Galen, reflected in the lakes where her father taught her to swim. " _Well_ , I mentioned I had to drop by the Andromeda Galaxy. Couple of billion years into the future. But that's beside the point. While I was there, I stumbled upon this." He opened the box, revealing a brilliant blue pendant that glittered with every movement, like a thousand tiny stars were caught inside.

"Oh," Elwing breathed.

"I thought you might like it." The Doctor slid the box across the table. "I thought you should have a treasure that was just yours, that you didn't have to worry about getting stolen or anything."

"Oh, it's _beautiful_." Elwing brushed her fingers over the surface. It was smooth and cool. "What is it made of?" She had seen many sapphires – there were dozens set in the Nauglamír – but none were like this.

"It is a very special jewel from another planet, _billions_ of light years away from here." The Doctor smiled. "It was made on a planet where the grass is pink and the sky is this really gorgeous shade of yellow in the daytime. And at night, you can see all the stars – the same ones you can see here, but they're arranged completely differently."

"It sounds pretty." Elwing ran her finger over the sapphire pendant again. It was a simple oval, and she wished she could have seen the place it came from, a world so far away from this one that seemed so peaceful and bright. "Thank you, Doctor."

"You are very welcome, Elwing. Want to try it on?" The Doctor lifted it out of the box, and clasped it around Elwing's neck. It rested on her chest as a cool, comfortable weight. "Very pretty," the Doctor said approvingly. "Now maybe we should get you back to Celeborn before they start sending out search parties."

Elwing looked up. "But someone must have seen me come in with you."

"Yes, well, they might still send in search parties. And then we may need search parties for the search parties…" The Doctor winked. "You may have noticed, the TARDIS is considerably bigger on the inside."

When they reached the first room, that the Doctor called the control room, he stopped and knelt in front of Elwing. "Elwing, I want to tell you something. Well, two things. They're very important, especially because of everything that's just happened." Elwing nodded. The Doctor placed his hands on her shoulders. "It's very, very important that you don't give up on hope. Because in my experience, it's always there, no matter what happens. And I have quite a bit of experience with bad things. So when you're feeling hopeless, you look at this," he tapped the sapphire around her neck, "and you remember what I told you, eh?"

Elwing nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."

"You're very welcome, Elwing. And the second thing, is that it's all right to cry. You probably don't want to do it in front of anyone, but when you get a moment alone…"

"But I can't," Elwing said. "All of my tears are frozen."

The Doctor gave her a very small, very sad smile. "I know that feeling. It's all right. But when they thaw, let them, all right? It's not good to keep it inside."

Elwing stepped forward and hugged the Doctor tightly. She did not need her foremothers' ability to see into someone's heart to know that the Doctor had loved and lost, just like her, and probably even more. He was not an Elf, but he was very old, and had said himself he had had many, many adventures. And Elwing knew that as much fun as the stories were, adventures themselves were dark and sad and terrible.

After all, she was in the middle of an adventure of her own.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Nine: Emerging from the Night**

Some time after they settled in their little snow cave, River hushed the boys. "Did you hear that?" she whispered. They fell silent, and all three of them held their breath. Muffled through the snow, they could hear someone shouting. He was calling for the twins. Relief flooded River, and she started to crawl forward to open up the entrance.

"Lady River, wait." Elurín grasped her arm.

"What is it?"

"That does not sound like someone from Doriath," Eluréd whispered.

"He speaks Sindarin with a strange accent, like Lady Galadriel's," Elurín added. "But stronger."

River opened her mouth to protest, but closed it swiftly. It was so easy to forget that the TARDIS translated everything for her, and that everyone they met wasn't _actually_ speaking English. "All right," she said finally, "let me just see who it is, then."

If only she had her blaster. River poked her head out of the snow and squinted into the darkness. The torch was easy to spot, glowing brightly, and reflecting on coppery hair. He turned and she caught a glimpse of a pale face and bright-bright eyes, and shivered. They held the same light that Galadriel's did, but there were hints of madness in these, not quite realized yet, that frightened her.

And he was missing his other hand. River shivered, and not because of the cold.

Her glimpse of his face was brief, but she'd caught a look at his armor beneath his cloak as well – adorned with the many-pointed star that had become all too familiar. River shimmied back into the comparative coziness of the shelter. "Right," she said, sitting back and shaking bits of snow out of her hair. "He's one of the Noldor." He had seemed desperate to find the boys, though. She didn't believe he meant them harm – maybe he hoped to rescue them, disagreeing with the cruel soldiers who dragged them out here.

But he also seemed rather unstable, and River was pretty sure that that kind of unstable was best avoided. "Let's just stay – " River interrupted herself with a yelp when the roots they were sitting among started moving. " _What_ – "

Their shelter collapsed around them as the roots pulled out of the ground, and the tree _started walking away_. River pulled the boys against her so as not to lose them in the snow, and when everything stopped shifting, she clawed frantically toward the surface. She broke through into frigid air and starlight, and saw the tree stop and turn around, as Eluréd and Elurín popped up on either side of her.

"An _onod_ ," Elurín whispered. The Noldo with one hand and wild eyes was nowhere to be seen.

"What's that?" River asked, gripping both boys' shoulders tightly. "Is it dangerous…?"

"Only if you try to harm the trees," Eluréd replied.

The onod stepped toward them and bent, just a little, forward. It didn't seem to be very flexible. River found herself staring into a solemn, hoary face, difficult to see in the darkness, except for its eyes, deep wells of green. _Oh_. River remembered suddenly _The Lord of the Rings_ – the Ents, tree shepherds that looked like trees themselves.

She made a mental note to spend more time in the fiction section of the Doctor's library.

"Hmm, hummm, what have we here? Little Elflings, hmmm?" He looked closely at Eluréd and Elurín, and then at River. "You are not an Elf."

River remembered the Ents took their time with speech, but good grief. "Um," she said. Then a blast of cold wind set her hair blowing all over the place, and had all three of them shivering. River wrapped her arms around herself, and noticed a hard bulge in one of her pockets. While the boys stared up at the Ent as it regarded them with those steady, deep eyes, she pulled it out, finding a scanner she'd swiped from the TARDIS console and then forgotten about.

"Excellent." She fiddle with it with numb fingers, looking for a frequency that the TARDIS or the Doctor's screwdriver could lock onto. She had no idea when he would reach the TARDIS, but the beauty of a time machine…

In moments she heard the unmistakable sound of the TARDIS materializing nearby. She looked around, both for the soldier she had seen and the police box. The former had vanished, fortunately; the latter she spotted with ease, and stumbled through deep snowdrifts to reach the door just as it opened.

"River!" The Doctor caught her when she tripped into his arms. "Are you all right?"

"A bit frozen, but I'll thaw." River turned. "Eluréd! Elurín!" They glanced over, and then hastily bowed to the Ent and left it standing there, watching them in bemusement, shaking its leafy head.

"Oh, is that an _Ent?"_ The Doctor craned his neck as the twins joined them. "I met one, a couple of hundred years into the future last week. I really wanted to get Old Entish into the TARDIS database, but you would not _believe_ the fit she threw…"

"Difficult language?"

" _Impossible_ language. Nearly set the console on fire; had to evacuate for almost a day before the smoke cleared. Hello, boys! You are a sight for sore eyes!"

"Doctor!" The twins flung themselves at him. "How did you find us? Is Elwing all right? Where is our Adar?"

"Ah. Yes. Well, I suppose we all have questions. But there's a horde of angry Noldorin soldiers wandering about and we should probably be on our way." And with that, he ushered them all inside, and shut the door behind him.

The boys were thrilled to see the inside of the TARDIS. Once they were warmed up with tea and baths, the Doctor let them explore while he and River talked. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Sweetie?" River asked as they vanished around a corner. "They might get lost."

"The TARDIS will make sure they don't," the Doctor replied with a wave of his hand, as he refilled their mugs with steaming tea. "And that they won't stumble onto anything they shouldn't."

"You left that Ent a bit flustered."

"Yes, well, a bunch of Noldor are about to find out the Silmaril they came for isn't in Menegroth. Thought it best we get out of there quickly."

River nodded. "There was one soldier looking for us. I saw him, just before that Ent started walking around and scared me out of my wits." The Doctor chuckled. "It's not funny! If I had my blaster with me I'd've shot him."

"That would have just made him angry, and he would have stepped on you, and then I would have been married to a pancake and really that's not very exciting."

"Yes, well. Good thing I didn't have it, then." River rested her chin on the palm of her hand. "But what about that soldier I saw? He had red hair, I'm pretty sure I saw in the torchlight. And he seemed – well, desperate. Maybe a bit mad."

"Maedhros, I imagine," the Doctor said, glancing toward the doorway. There was no sign of the boys. "The oldest of Fëanor's sons. Did you notice whether he was missing a hand?"

"I thought he was, but couldn't be sure."

The Doctor nodded. "It had to have been Maedhros."

River wrinkled her nose, trying to remember who that was. One of the sons of Fëanor, she thought. "He's missing a hand?"

"Long story. Different chapter. But _this_ story says he searches for a long time for Eluréd and Elurín, trying to make up for the actions of Celegorm's servants. But he never finds them."

"Because they escape," River said, gesturing around them. "Of course."

The Doctor shook his head. "It's not _quite_ that simple."

"Why not?"

"Of their fate 'no tale tells,'" he said. "They just sort of vanish from history – at least until the _Quenta Silmarillion_ is written. I wish I knew when exactly that will be..."

River stared at him. "But – but that's _wrong_ ," she said. "They're just _children_. What about _Elwing?_ "

"Elwing and the survivors of Doriath are on their way to Sirion. Or they will be. I've jumped around a couple of days, got a bit wibbly wobbly."

"But what's going to happen to Eluréd and Elurín? You can't just take them away from their _family_ – " She broke off, seething. The Doctor stared at the table, tracing a knot in the wood with the tip of his finger. Her own childhood came roaring back into the forefront of her mind; she realized her fists were clenched so tightly her nails were bruising her palms. She felt a sudden, fierce desire to shoot something. She wondered if the TARDIS had a target range. "Time can be rewritten," she finally managed to snarl.

"Not all of it," the Doctor said. "It's in the book, I read the book, I know what happens, I'm powerless to change it. And anyway, this period is so – to change any major event like this might be throwing a monkey wrench into the whole thing, and the future will be very different."

"I don't see how – "

"It's too risky, River. Everything happening right now is leading up to the War of Wrath. That's the war that puts Morgoth away for good." The Doctor took a sip of his tea, and grimaced to find it cold. He set the mug down and leaned back in his chair. It was unusual to see him so serious. River took a deep breath and sat back as well, crossing her arms and trying not to scowl. "Those boys are not going to grow up like you did, River."

"Good."

"I don't know what I'm going to do with them just yet, but in the meantime, there are some fun planets I think they might like to see. Take their minds off of things for a bit."

"You'll have to tell them sooner or later."

"I'm a Time Lord. Sooner, later, wibbly, wobbly, timey, wimey…"

River rolled her eyes. "You should make it sooner, rather than later." She stood and took her mug to the sink to wash it, feeling like she had had enough of adventures. She _almost_ wanted to return to the Stormcage.

More than that, she wanted to visit her parents.

The twins returned, still fascinated by the TARDIS, but tired now, as the events of the past day caught up with them. But neither wanted to go to sleep until they knew what had become of their father and sister. River shot the Doctor a look.

"I'll tell you when you're ready for bed. Let's see if we can dig up some clothes…"

River went to her room, just down the hall from the boys', and across the hall from the one Amy and Rory used. She flopped onto the bed, and then curled up with a pillow. The adrenaline had run its course, and she was asleep in minutes.

She woke to the Doctor gently shaking her shoulder. "River?"

River groaned and rolled over. The Doctor sat on the bed beside her. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing, really. The boys are asleep."

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them Dior is dead, and I wouldn't be able to take them to the rest of their family."

"Did you tell them why?"

"Of course not. They understand that it's a really complicated situation, so…"

"Did you tell them what was going to happen to them, now?"

"I asked them if they would like to travel with me for a while. They said yes." The Doctor shrugged as he gazed down at River. "It will be a good distraction."

"Mm."

"You don't seem very excited."

"I think I've had enough of adventures for a bit. But I don't want to go back to the Stormcage just yet."

The Doctor grinned, and kissed her swiftly before disappearing from the room. River felt the TARDIS shudder, and then the unmistakable sounds of landing. She got up and stretched before making her way to the console room.

"Where are we?" she asked as the Doctor jumped down the stairs to the door.

"I'll be back in a week," he said, opening it. River peered outside, and then looked sharply at the Doctor, who stood with that ridiculous grin on his face. "Have fun!"

"Thank you, Sweetie." She kissed him. "Say bye to the boys for me!"

And she stepped out of the TARDIS into the summer sunshine of downtown Leadworth.


	11. Chapter 11

**Epilogue: Going and Coming Back**

The Doctor wasn't quite sure how long the boys traveled around Time and Space with him – it was hard to keep track in the TARDIS, after all. But they had both grown a handful of inches, and he had overheard them whispering about their home the evening before. They were homesick, and it was probably well past time he took them back to Middle-earth.

He walked around the console, hitting buttons, pulling the occasional lever, trying to decide where to take Eluréd and Elurín. Not to Beleriand – he couldn't think of a safe place, there. And anyway, they were supposed to stay out of the tales of the First Age.

East, then, of the Blue Mountains. The Doctor leaned against the railing and pulled out his copy of _The Lord of the Rings_ to take a look at the map on the inside of the front cover.

His gaze immediately fell on the Shire, and then on the Old Forest, and a grin spread across his face. Yes, the Doctor knew _just_ where to take the boys, where they would be quite safe – if Old Tom Bombadil and Lady Goldberry would agree.

When Eluréd and Elurín appeared in the doorway, hearing the TARDIS preparing to land, the Doctor asked, "So what do you two think of willow trees?"


End file.
